


Ugly Memories

by Alanna_Z



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Brotherly Love, Burns, Confinement, Desperation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Kidnapping, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Torture, Possible Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Torture, Punishment, Rescue, Ruined Friendship, Torture, War, War Era, Whipping, World War II, mental damage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alanna_Z/pseuds/Alanna_Z
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany is suffering, of course in secret. He hasn't told anyone that he is having nightmares, and feeling weak and tired. Finally, he breaks down, and now he has to face his old and painful memories again. He had believed that he had finally moved passed it, but it seems that he hasn't. He hopes that he can finally put it behind him and move on with his life. But is that even possible?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Breakdown and The Journal

Ludwig woke with a yelp, trembling and shivering, cold with sweat and with his hair damp and sticking to his skin. His huge arms were coiled tightly around his torso, almost like they were desperately holding him together as he fell apart. The covers of his bed kicked off nearly completely and his cheeks were covered in wet tears, making his skin feel sticky and tight. He gulped, his chest heaving and panting for oxygen, as he remembered his nightmare; curious to remember why he had woken up in such a woeful state.

He suddenly cringed, remembering the gore and violence he had been dreaming, the horror of war and the pain that it had brought on.

Screams and cries of agony plagued him and his disassembled mind, images from the war, images of his men dying for the Fatherland, being made expendable by the very Regime they were protecting. He remembered the twisted faces of some fallen in battle and others, where there was nothing left but a scrap of red meat and grey tissue lying about in the mud.

The German flinched, tossing and turning, as he desperately tried to fall back asleep to no avail. He gasped, squirming as he saw discarded bones from blasts, sticky with pink and red flesh, oozing, viscous blood, writhing guts and ribcages poking through thin and malnourished skin; the ugly realities of modern war. The concentration camps came to came to mind them, with their ugly experiment, the sickening abortions that were preformed and the sterilization that had occurred.

He frowned, tears running from his eyes before he unfurled himself from the clutches of his soft bed, ill at ease and uncomfortable.

The blond lumbered through his room, his head light and dizzy from the sick and gory images filling him up, and headed out into the hall. His heavy, leadened body shuffled down the dark hall until he came into the washroom, woozy, nearly collapsing in front of the porcelain sink, before flicking on the harsh light.

Ludwig flinched, the light hurting his bloodshot eyes, and saw himself in the mirror. Tears pricked at his eyes and his heart felt heavy with sorrow as he stared at his reflection with empty blue eyes. His hair was matted and dull, with its luster gone. His eyes were no better, a flat steel blue and puffy, showing off the amount of sleep he had lost, with black bags hanging in from corner to corner. 

He took a deep breath, his lips quivering as he touched the jagged, pink scar on his chest. The German shuddered, seeing nothing but death, fire and blood in his eyes.

Then he broke. His legs were rubber as he pressed his forehead into the porcelain of the sink. His fingers clung and clawed at the smooth stone, trying to grab hold of anything for support, but they kept slipping as he sobbed noisily, his spirit broken and splintered deep down. His tears hit the floor in constant waves, dripping off his jaw and nose, pooling in small blobs on the tiled floor around him.

He didn't move from his spot, sobbing deeply, the cries catching in his throat and racking through his body, lurking him forward as he tried to keep upright. He continued to fall into his despair, his memories swirling and his heart pranging with pain, until he was numb and empty inside.

Ludwig sighed, dragging himself up and wiping his eyes with his sleeve, then stumbled across the hall to his study. He fell into his leather chair, his heart heavy and slid his hand down his face, trying to wipe away the feeling of utter discontent.

It was endless torture and he wasn't sure how to deal with it, but he had to do something. Something to get rid of this toil he felt when he closed his eyes. He looked around his desk for a moment, liking for something to do, until his blue eyes lazily befell his journal, leather bound and yellow paged, and filled with nearly 170 years of emotion.

He took it in his hands, feeling the smooth, cured leather under his rough hands, and began to write.

 

> Dear Dairy,
> 
> I can't do it anymore. I can't keep it all inside, in my head. My nightmares are keeping me up at night and haunting me in my waking hours. It's time to face it. Time to lay it all out and look at it all. I can't live like this any longer, half-alive and sick in my soul.
> 
> Gilbert has already begun to worry and my bosses know I'm sick, seeing the lack of colour in my face, and believe it's their fault.
> 
> It's time to go back.
> 
> I was born in 1815, after the Congress of Vienna and was instantly my brother's pride and joy. I was the product go my brother's hard work to fulfill our father's wish: a unified German state.
> 
> However, I was a sickly child. I was always plagued by high fevers and heavy bouts of pneumonia. I know it was because of the disunity and fighting among my brothers. They found constantly amongst themselves, debating over petty things. Gilbert worried over me constantly, but the only reprieve I found from my illness was from my brother's flute playing. It made me smile and lifted my spirits enough that I felt well enough to sit up. But Prussia was almost always away, fighting wars when I was young, so I got small reprieves now and then.
> 
> But in 1871, I became a full nation. In the few years before, I had recovered from my sicknesses and was ushered into the military. I got my first taste of War during the Franco-Prussian war, but I did get sick one last time on the battlefield. 
> 
> I was so young then, unsure of every thing. I was 15 physically, or “Nation Years” as we call it, but 56 in human years. I had never been out of the palace in Berlin, being so sick and weak. I hadn’t seen the world like my brother had, but still I took on nationhood. I had to grow up.
> 
> Prussia was an unwavering support during this time. I leaned on him a lot and her helped me with many of the administrative duties.
> 
> He was very proud of me that day in May, but I was terrified of the responsibility I now owned. I had to learn quickly and it took a bit of time, but after a decade, I was comfortable in my new role.
> 
> But as my 100th birthday neared, it was becoming more and more apparent that I was kind of unwanted by my neighbours, maybe even all of Europe. Gilbert assured me that I was being paranoid, but then WWI broke out.
> 
> The Great War broke out a year before my 100th birthday and a few of months before my 99th. The first year was full of excitement and vigour, but tapered off as the Western Front become a stale mate and the Eastern Front was becoming bloodier by the day.
> 
> My 100th birthday was a sham, Gilbert and I were separated, and I only had a few of my brothers with me. We celebrated in the trenches, after a heavy day of fighting, and it heavily was overshadowed by the ugliness of the war.
> 
> But the decades following are where everything began. The Depression hit my country hard. Morale was low, and people were unhappy and sick, and it was taking a toll on my own body. I was forced to make cuckoo clocks as a second job to pay France's reparation fines, since inflation was so high and my bosses were refusing to pay with taxes.
> 
> I was exhausted in the 20's and early 30's, coming home only to sleep. Then Hitler came to power. For a time, everything was gong well; morale was high and my economy was thriving again.
> 
> Russia and I had patched things up and we were planning to recapture our ancient lands from Poland. But afterwards, Hitler forced me to betray my good friend once more. Thrusting my brothers and I into another two front war.
> 
> I was devastated and sick to my soul. Hitler had doped my people and me.
> 
> And soon, I found myself on the Eastern Front…

 

 


	2. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany finds himself on the Eastern Front, guarding the Northern side of the garrison. It's cold and he's freezing, waiting until he can go back inside, but he never makes it to the comfort he craves.

The tall German nation breathed onto his frozen, gloved hands and quickly rubbed them together, trying to heat them back up. He craved warmth and shelter in that moment, sitting in the cold snow. The chilly air of Russia bit into his bones and left him shivering in the cold, swirling show as he stared over the frozen, desolate plain in front of him. He shifted, sitting against the snow wall of the small trench, and hugged his wool blanket closer to his frame. He sniffed, wiping his red nose, getting rid of the snot that threatened to leak down.

"Das is doof," he muttered to the wind, quivering under the blanket. His shaking hands could barely clutch his assault rifle as he sat, freezing in the white ice, his wool socks barely fighting off the cold for his booted feet. He was sure that if he didn't warm them up soon, his toes would fall off and he would have to endure the unpleasant experience of growing them back.

Sometimes it sucked being a nation.

Ludwig grumbled, cursing and searing again, and pulled his blanket closer as the wind picked up. He knew Prussia would have been better suited for this assignment, but his boss stuck it to him instead. Prussia had grown up with the Baltic winters, not him. Germany was raised in central Europe, with mild winters in Berlin and South Germany. But still he was in the Russian snow, keeping watching on the North end of the German base.

Soon, the sun came up, signalling the end of his watch shift. 

"Herr," a soldier called for him and saluted. "I'm here to relieve you." 

Ludwig nodded, saluting him back and got up, rubbing his arms before gathering his things. "Danke. Good luck."

The solider nodded, taking up his post as Germany fled quickly, hurrying toward promised warmth.

 He hurried for the barracks, dreaming of the warm fire that awaited him as his heavy boots crunched in the white, fluffy snow. There, he could bundle up in his woollen night clothes, a blanket around him and a cup of warm coffee in his hands and sit in front of the fire, thinking of home and the woman he loved until sleep came to him.

The blonde sighed in content, his breath freezing right before him and pulled up his neck warmer, trying to stay off the cold just for a little bit longer. He gave his leather gloves a quick tug and continued to move forward, motivated by the promise of warmth.

But as he rounded a corner, something felt off. It was too quiet and no other solders were in sight. An eerie air suddenly set itself around him, his men gone, which was odd for this time of day. It was nearly 10PM, a time where the guards were changed and fresh troops made their rounds.

The lack of soldiers set the nation on edge and he unslug his rifle, slowly levelling it as he stepped forward.

Then everything went black with as  _crack!_ reverberated through his skull. 


	3. Captor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany finds him at the mercy of a mad man. But who his mysterious captor is… is no surprise. Or is it?

    The German groaned, his mind slowly coming up from the depths of unconsciousness. Pain struck him first, throbbing behind his eyes and lancing through his skull whenever he tried to raise his head. He blinked, clearing the thick haze that clouded his eyes and snapped awake when he remembered what had happened.

    He remembered the pain as something blunt and hard cracked down on his skull.

    He groaned again, feeling the blood seeping through his blond hair and streaking down his neck. 

    He looked around, taking in his surrounding slowly. He was in a small, stone room, with a small fire burning on the adjacent wall, giving off the acrylic smell of burning coal. His wrists were shackled above his head and his ankles held within the same holds, with his back pressed against the cold stonewall. His wrists were almost raw, pink and tender from his hanging slumber, rubbing against the sharp edges of the cold steel. Red blood slowly began to trace down his back, dripping off his neck as his head throbbed, fuzzy as the door was thrown open and his captor stood there, with a cigar hanging off his lips.

    A heavy lump formed his German's throat as he pulled himself to his feet.

    Russia sighed and stepped into the room, closing the door and sitting down at the small table in the center of the room. The small chair creaked under his weight, his eyes dark and vengeful. His face was dark, too, with harsh shadows being cast across his face by the fire. His lips were set in an angry scowl as he stared down the German nation, his eyes hard and cold.

    "I… Ivan?" Ludwig swallowed, barely able to process what was going on.

    Ivan Braginski regarded him coldly. "Germany."

     "I-Ivan," The German stuttered, still trying to steady himself on his feet and get his bearings. "W-what's going o-on?"

    The towering Russian sighed, taping the ashes of his cigar into the glass ashtray and leaning back into in his wooden chair.

    "Ivan, what is this about?" Germany asked again, standing on his feet, but his head and back screaming.

    The Russian didn't answer, and just continued to stare at him with coldness and stagnation. He got up and stocked over to his captive German, taking another long drag from his thick cigar. 

    "What's this about, Ivan?" Ludwig asked once more, gritting his teeth as he squared himself to the Russian in front of him. His knees were stiff, as well as his neck, but his wrists were given some reprieve as his weight was lifted off of them, though still in their tight, metal restrains.

    He looked up at the Russian expectantly, hoping to get an answer.

    "You betrayed me," the violet-eyed man hissed lowly.

    Germany's eyes went wide.  _Oh no. Not this again_. "Ivan… I… You… You have to understand that my–"

    The blonde was cut short as his chest tightened. An odd sensation worked through him, and then began to burn. His jaw clenched as the burning grew hotter and hotter, but his eyes never left those of his assailant. 

    The Russian smirked as he snuffed off his cigar on Ludwig's tense peck, searing the German's pale skin. He watched with satisfaction as the cigar created a round, black hole in the skin and penetrated through layers of skin, making the captive German wince and grunt when the coals were pulled away. 

    He finally took a breath of relief as the embers were pulled away, the pain dulling a bit. His chest gently heaved in breath, getting oxygen back into his system. Once he was focused again, he set his mind on the task of reasoning with the Russian.

    "Ivan," he huffed gently. "You don't understand. I–"

    The Russian nation backhanded him. "You do not get to speak to me!" he bellowed, enraged. 

"German scum." He spat at the German's feet and turned away, steaming and relighting his cigar and taking a puff.

    Germany sighed, his cheek stinging from the slap. He spat out some blood from his now torn cheek and pulled his brows together, thinking. Russia hadn’t listened, even though usually he was quite rational in his dealings with Germany. The rage of betrayal was guiding him now, instead of reason. Russia had always been like that, quick to emotion instead of hindsight and fore planning in times of crisis or turmoil. For now, Germany was at his mercy.

    "I'm sorry, Ivan," the blond murmured, hoping the apology would ease the furious Russian.

    It didn't.

    The platinum blonde chuckled darkly, low in his throat. "You will be when I'm done with you."

    Ludwig sighed, relaxing, and seeing it was useless. Russia was in a state, and there was nothing he could really do. He was going to be dealt more pain, as much as Russia saw fit until this nonsense was over.

    He lolled his head back and sighed, staring at the wooden timber roof as Russia took another drag from his relit cigar.

    "Now, you Nazi prick," he grumbled. "You're going to feel a slight sting."

    The platinum blond lifted up the hot picker from the fire and eyed the German sadistically.

    Ludwig stared; his eyes wide as his body tensed. He stood firm, his chin high, even as his breathing and heart rate began to quicken. His hands twisted within the iron bilboes, searching for a way to loosen them and get out, to fight. Quickly he scrapped the skin open and soon blood was running down his arms, streaming in the grooves of his muscles. Adrenalin was pumping rapidly through his veins, forcing his heart to race in panic. It pounded against his ribcage and threatened to break free of his chest as the Russia stocked over, to white-hot poker in his hand.

    Then, he felt the pain.

    It seared into the side of his ribcage, the smell of burning flesh filling the air around him. It gagged him, filling his sinuses as the poker burned his skin away.

    The German grunted and ground his teeth together, tensing and steeling himself as the pain continued for longer than he was able to tolerate. He sputtered, groaning, and quickly re-clenched his teeth to prevent any other noises of pain to escape, trying to remain firm and strong as his body was broken down.

    Finally, his violet-eyed assailant pulled the hot poker, now only red, from the damage skin, taking bits of charred tissue with it. 

    Ludwig gasped again in relief and panted, biting his lip to stop it from quivering. His body sagged, pain burning up his side as he tried to ignore it.

    "You know you deserve this," Ivan hissed as he stuffed the flesh-soiled poker back into the fire. "You've soiled your hands and soul with the blood of innocents and the betrayal of your own kin."

    "Ivan, please," Ludwig tried to reason once more, a bit more desperate. "Just let me explain–"

    "Silence!" Ivan roared, punching his captive across the face.

    The blond felt his cheekbone crack and his nose break as the Russian's fist was pushed into his cheek, breaking bone like brittle wood. The weight of the blow caused a disaster zone, busting open the delicate blood vessels in the German’s nose as blood started to gush, water-falling down his face, while his eyes stung and swelled up. Blood covered his lips and dripped down his chin as he sniffed back the blood as much as he could, but it was useless, there was just too much as his nose was left crooked and broken.

    He spat out blood the blood in the back of his throat, his body sagging and forcing all his weight on his wrists as stared up at Ivan with his bloodshot eyes.

    "You're a demon!" The violet-eyed nation spat, trembling with rage as the German hanged there. "And I will punish you for your sins!"

    He punched him again, ricocheting the blond’s head into the stonewall.

    Stars and black spots exploded across the German's vision as his skull cracked even more and his brain bounced around in his head. The world began to slowly spin as nausea swept over him. He felt the urge to vomit as he hanged there; trying to feel his feet so he could stand up. He desperately tried to hold it in but it was beginning to rise up into his throat. 

    It was no use.

    He hurled, spittle and bile spilling down his front onto the cold, concrete floor and staining his pants. The smell was wretched, acidic and sour, since he hadn't eaten in hours.

    Russia sighed. "Now you've made a mess of yourself."

    The ash blond turned and picked up a pair of scissors, frowning as he knelt down beside his German captive. 

    Ludwig's eyes widened, shaking his ankle trying to back away, but Russia grabbed him.

    "Stay still," he growled, holding the German's ankle tight to keep the captive steady. "We wouldn't want to snip off anything important.” He smirked up at Germany, chuckling as he began to cut the woollen fatigues from his thick, muscled legs. And thus, he stripped Germany of everything, his clothes, and his dignity, as he stood there in his underwear.

    When the Russian was done, he threw the destroyed pants into the fire and went back to the table.

    Meanwhile, Germany was struggling with the blackness that was closing on his consciousness. His was dizzy and nauseous, as his brain swelled and pressed up against his cracked skull. He was too weak to fight to stay awake and hold himself up, his knees buckling as he blinked the fuzziness from his eyes. His vision doubled as he stared up at Ivan and was suddenly splashed with ice-cold water.

    The German flinched and gasped as the icy water hit his wounds and shocked his nerves.

    "Come on, Ludwig," Russia encouraged with a mocking grin. "You can't be this easy to bring down."

    Germany groaned and got up, his knees quaking as he stared up at his former ally.

    "Please, Russia," he huffed, swallowing back blood and bile. "Just let me explain…"

    "No," The Russian nation snapped. "Your actions speak for you."

    "Ivan, I was forced to do it," Ludwig desperately moaned, sagging forward, weak and trying to steady himself with his knees pressed together. "I would never betray you on purpose!"

    The platinum blond rolled his eyes and turned away.

    The German sighed and leaned back against the wall, begging mentally for relief. Another attempt wasted. Perhaps once the day had waned, his rage would dissipate and maybe then he would be more reasonable. However, Germany knew that Russia was severely bipolar at best. He could be calm and sweet one moment and then a rage monster the next. He was unpredictable, but in the last few years, his rage and violent side had been guiding him more and more. It was troublesome, and Germany wondered what was going on.

    Soon, Russia sighed and calmly removed his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair, revealing his thick muscles, contained within a tight, grey t-shirt. He stocked over to the fire and used the poker to stir up the embers.

    The German just watched, huffing as pain tore up his side, and pulled himself back into his mind, edging closer and closer to his subconscious to escape the hellish reality he found himself in. He focused on his reaching, 4 in, 4 out, and sank back into the blackened depths until the pain was tolerable.

    He breathed and swallowed, tasting the ever-present bile in his throat. Right now, he had to endure, since it was still useless as ever to reason with the blond Russian and there was nothing he could do.

    His captor turned back to him, grinning viciously with the white-hot poker in his hand. 

    The German nation stretched to his full height, locking his jaw and gritting his teeth in preparation for the pain that was about to be given to him. He held his stance firmly, trying to be strong as Russia chuckled and smirked.

    The heat was applied to the sensitive flesh of Ludwig's bare thigh, singeing the delicate skin and far to close to his jewels for his comfort. He grunted out in pain as the skin and soft tissues were burned away and melted. As the pain intensified and his resolve weakened, he felt more and more discomfort in his groin, making him fidget and squirm, trying to escape the ugly stinging.

    Russia laughed, chuckling darkly as he relished as noises of distress and pain began to echo from his enemy’s throat.

    The pain was exhausting, and Ludwig panted, trying to hold onto his consciousness as Russia removed the piece of iron, tearing off pieces of burnt flesh. The smell of burnt skin filled up the air again and the German had to fight to keep the bile in his stomach.

    "We're just getting started," Ivan whispered sadistically, stuffing the poker back into the flames. He saw the weariness in Germany’s eyes and gripped his chin. "So, you better not pass out."

    Ludwig groaned and tried to stand on his feet, but the new wound on his leg shot up his spine, buckling his knees.

    "Come now, Ludwig," Russia mocked, gesturing to him. "I thought you were stronger than this."

    Ludwig glared up at him and forced himself up, his knees shaking, but his determination firm.

    "That a boy," Russia beamed, throwing his arms out wide. "Much better."

    He grabbed his pipe and swung at the German's leg.

    Ludwig grunted, gritting his teeth, as the sickening  _crack!_ reverberated through his shinbone, snapping the bone in two. The shattered piece of skeleton pierced through his tough skin and in an instance, copious amounts of blood were on the floor.

    The Russian struck again, breaking the femur above and dislocating his hip.

    The German buckled, crying out as the pain blinded him. He tried to keep his weight off his broken leg, setting in on his bended knee.

    "Get up!" Russia ordered, insane madness sparking in his eyes.

    The German grunted, groaning as he pulled himself up and setting himself up on his last good leg. He panted, sweat dripping from his brow. He was fighting, fighting hard to stay awake and aware, fighting hard for his life, no matter how determined Russia was to snuff it out. It was a life that his brother had made possible and he wasn't going to let it slip from his grasp, but the sharp pain hitting him in waves was making him tired and weak.

    Suddenly, even more blinding pain spiked up his opposite leg, making him shiver as his toes were crushed under lead.

    Russia snickered, watching as Germany crumbled, both his legs incapacitated in some form.

    "Come on Ludwig!" The violet-eyed nation mocked, cackling. "Get up!" He took another swing, contacting the German nation's side, smashing ribs.

    Germany called out and groaned, trying to swallow the pain, and struggled to get to his feet, to appease the madman attacking him.

    But it was impossible; the pain was too great.

    Rage abruptly surged throughout the Russian nation, lighting up his eyes with darkness.

    "Get up!" he growled, pulling the German up by the hair. "Get up, you German bastard!"

    "Ivan," Germany whispered, sadness and fear in his eyes. "I can't."

    The platinum haired man growled and shoved his captive head down, staring his wounded wrists.

    "Then hang there!" he snarled, grabbing his boots and jacket before storming out the door.

    Finally, Ludwig relaxed, heaving forward and panting as the pain boiled up.

        He sighed and took a quick assessment of his injuries. 

    First, the burns were bad, 3rd degree, oozing plasma as they gapped black, charred holes in his skin. His ribs were broken from the last hit, making every breath a challenge, feeling like a knife in his large chest. 

    His left leg was in shambles. His shin was reduced to splinters, sticking out of his skin, stinging and becoming more infected with every second it was left unattended. His hip was dislocated from the blow to his femur, which was cracked with a huge bruise welling under his skin, dark, purple and aching. Tissues and blood vessels were torn and bleeding in massive amounts into his leg as his leg swelled with redness and welts.

    Tears welled in the German's eyes as his nose finally clotted, but his cheek and jaw ached, throbbing with his cracked skull. His foot throbbed, completely crushed, his bones splintered into millions of tiny shards. No bone was left intact, crushed or destroyed, and putting any weight on it would send shivers of pain to his brain. He couldn’t stand. It hurt too much.

    The German nation sighed, sagging downward, his wrists taking on his full weight again, rubbing and scrapping against the edges of the iron shackles. He tried to rest his body against the wall, but the pain shooting up his spine was making it impossible and he hung his head in defeat.

    He had really messed up. He had somehow let an Austrian seize power and brainwash his people.

    At first, Ludwig was shocked and completely bewildered when the orders to betray Russia came across his desk. He stared at the moustached man in horror and disbelief, trying to figure out why such a horrifying and damaging request and been made. He tried to get down to the bottom of it, to find the motivation behind the invasion, but it all came down to terrifying and varying political views.

    Thus, Ludwig was once again forced to betray his good friend and pushed into another two front war.

    The blond sighed and swallowed back the bile in his throat. He tried to ignore the pain and ground himself in the moment, but it was fruitless. The pain was welling up and was setting in deeper and deeper. The swelling was starting to flare up, pressing against his already seeded nerves.

    He was stuck and he couldn't fight back. His only hope was his brother, a rescue.

    The blonde man sighed, closing his eyes and thinking back to the love of his life that he cared for so much. He smiled, remember her fiery, red hair and her sharp green eyes, eyes that held the answers to the universe. He freckled face always beamed when he saw her even though she was being oppressed by her own brother and struggling to bring her country out of poverty.

    He hadn't seen her in five long years. Years of torture, years of war.

    He would give anything to see her again.


	4. Whipping and Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany continues to suffer at Russia's hands. He endures and endures, but at the end, Russia plans something that he could never be able to face.

    “Reminiscing good, old memories, Germany?" A heavily accented voice sneered.

    The smile that came with the memories disappeared as they were washed away from the German's mind, creasing his lips into a frown as his brows pulled together. He looked up into the eyes of his captor, hiding the fear that was suddenly sparked within his heart when he saw the maddening glint that coloured Russia's lavender eyes.

    The large nation stared down upon his helpless captive and smirked, pulling up his knee and kicking the blond nation square in the gut.

    Germany gasped, chocking on spittle as the air left his lungs. He coughed, his lungs heaving, his ribs feeling like knives as he tried to suck in breath.

    “How do those memories feel now?" Russia mocked.

       Ludwig just glared up at his former ally, coughing and gagging.

       Russia just smirked, his arms crossed casually over his rippling chest. He turned away, smiling viciously in the dim light. "Get him down."

       Two Russian soldiers stepped into view, hulking and ominous as they unshackled the German male from the cold wall. They let him droop to his knees, uncaring of his condition and injuries as they moved to unshackle his feet.

    The German nation flinched, his broken leg taking on some of his weight as he fell forward, his wrists screaming in relief. Shivers rolled through his stocky frame as he quickly shifted his weight over to his undamaged knee while rubbing his swelling wrists. They were scrapped raw, tender and rough as Ludwig sat on the floor, cautious and apprehensive about what was coming up next.

    The soldiers grabbed his arms, ignoring his injuries as they hauled him into the center of the room. They threw him down and the German moaned, his wrists burning as he leaned forward.

    "Ivan, please," he murmured. "I was forced to do it. I never wanted to betray you."

    “Keep spewing your lies, Germany," Russia grunted out of the corner of the room. "I don't believe you.”

    "Ivan!" Germany was loosing his patience. This foolery was maddening and was sending them in circles. How long would it be until Russia finally stop with his foolishness and pull the wool from his eyes? Truly, it was becoming insulting that his friend, well former friend, would think that he would do something so heinous on purpose. "You know I would never betray you like this! I was forced!"

    Still, it fell on deaf ears.

    A sharp sting opened up across his back as the  _crack!_  of a whip shot up into the stale air.

    Ludwig tensed as he gaped, the stinging intensifying with each second that passed. He felt the skin break open, blood seeping out as he held himself together.

    Then it happened again.

    The stinging turned into burning as the whipping carried on, an endless assault upon his bare back. It bled and was broken open, lashes and gauges carved into his pale skin.

    The German panted, sweating and exhausted from the pain, with salt getting into his wounds. His eyes were stinging with tears as she collapsed, groaning in pain on the cold, stone floor.

    "Ivan," he gasped. "Please…"

    The Russian stood over him, his eyes downcast and full of contempt. "Please what, Germany? Stop? Show you mercy? Did you show mercy to Poland? To me?"

    Ludwig grunted, getting back onto his hands and knees. "You beat Poland, too…"

    "What was that?" Russia challenged.

    "You beat Poland with me," Germany repeated, coughing as his rips continued to slice up his chest.

    Russia's violet eyes lit up with rage, hearing those words of truth. "YOU!" he bellowed, grabbing a fistful of Ludwig's golden hair and dragged him to the fireplace, holding him above the burning embers.

    "YOU FITHLY LAIR!"

    Sweat beaded down the German's face as his skin began to bubble and peel. He panted, gasping as the hot air seared his lungs and stole the oxygen from his airways.

    "SAY IT AGAIN!" Ivan bellowed. "I DARE YOU!"

    Ludwig coughed, phlegm and burnt tissue flying from his lips, even while his skin slowly burned.

    "You helped me beat Feliks, Ivan," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

    Ivan shoved him down, pushing him closer to the hot flames. The burning grew, Ludwig's skin reddening and rippling.

    "AGAIN!"

    "You beat Poland with me!" The German nation bellowed, knocking pain through his damaged lungs. “You stood there, grinning, as I broke his rib and then  _you_ smashed in his head!”

    Russia growled, pulling him back and dropping him to the floor. He stormed away, kicking the chair and table aside as he began to pace.

    The German collapsed, laying still and craving the relief of the cold floor. He coughed, pulling up pain and thick, pinkish phlegm, panting and shivering as he laid in sweet relief.

    "You German swine," The Russia, hissed. "Lying and scheming. No wonder your allies turned on you!"

    "At least I treat my allies with dignity and respect," Ludwig coughed, turning his head to watch the Russian.

    "Like fuck!" Ivan spat, whirling on the wounded man. "My soldiers were treated like pigs in you goddamn camps!" He pressed his booted foot into the nation's back and pressed it down hard.

    Ludwig coughed and groaned, trying to press up and against the tread.

    "I'm not responsible for what my boss orders the men to do."

    "Bullshit!" Russia slammed his foot down, forcing Ludwig back down. "You are the nation! You are responsible for every action your people take!"

    "That's a lie," Ludwig gasped, his ribs crushing his broken lungs.

    “You can't pass judgment," his captor grunted. "Not after the sins you've committed." He then hauled up the broken nation, some of chucks of his damaged and burnt skin peeling off the German's chest, being adhered to the cold floor. He threw the German into a chair, binging his wrists behind the back of the chair. He didn't bother to tie down his captive's broken and shattered leg, but shackled his crushed foot to the chair.

    Ludwig took in deep breaths, swallowing back pain. He coughed again, spitting out the awful phlegm his lungs were producing and steeled himself for more.

    And more was about to come.

    Ivan pulled out a pair of dead weights from the corner, each fitted with iron cuffs. He circled around the German, slamming the cuffs closed around his wrists, and Ludwig groaned, feeling the pinch of iron again. The dead weights forced Ludwig's arms back and down towards the floor, pulling his arms into a painful and awkward position.

    The German nation moaned,, the muscles in his chest and arms being pulled on and strained. His wrists were once again being scraped again, causing him even more discomfort than before.

    "Now, just sit and relax," Russia sneered as he moved to leave again. "I'm going out to fetch your slimy, older brother, so he can join you."

    "No!" Ludwig jolted forward, tugging on his arms and pulling a few muscles. "Russia you leave him out of this!"

    Russia just smirked and turned away, slamming the door closed.

    Then Germany was left alone.


	5. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany worried over Gilbert and his state of being.

The German huffed, throwing his head back, staring up at the timbered ceiling as tears welled in his eyes. They began to streak down his pale cheeks; flushed pink and blotchy as snot began to clog up his nose. The tears continued to well, but not out of sadness or even out of pain, but from the immense and overwhelming worry for his older brother.

Gilbert had ben through enough torture and pain over the years, with his demotion to a ‘Free-State’ and then being absorbed into the Reich, coming under Gemrany’s authority. He didn’t deserve to play any part in Ludwig’s sins. It had taken such a huge emotional toll on the albino, even though he tried so hard to hide it and would never admit it out right.

Ludwig frowned. He hadn’t been fair to Prussia and Germany knew it. It hurt the blond to remember the whole procedure of taking away his brother’s sovereignty and it hurt to remember the awful and betrayed look that was in his older brother’s eyes when he realized that he was slowly being usurped and conquered by the very state that was the little brother he raised. It was an unbearable guilt that Germany carried everyday, and everywhere.

Gilbert didn’t need to be put through any more pain. He didn’t needed to punished for something Germany had done and acted in alone.

The tears continued down his cheeks, creating wet lines down his flushed cheeks. He missed his older brother. He hadn’t seen Gilbert in nearly six months and Gilbert had written to him in three. Ludwig had just begged the higher powers that be that Gilbert was fine and in good spirits, not tortured and cold like he was.

He also prayed that Gilbert was far away from here.

“Gott, Gilbert,” the German sobbed, “Please be safe.”


	6. A Small Break and A Small Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Ludwig is finally given some news about his brother. In the present, Ludwig is interupted by a troubled, little boy.

 

     _I could barely contain my worry in that moment. The pain had weakened me, making me fragile and emotional, just like I am now. I couldn’t stop the physical signs, tears and bloody snot pouring down my scrunched up face.  
_      _Prussia was so over-protective, and still is. I knew if he was close by, and heard that I had been listed missing or captured, he would rush to my aid, blind to the probable trap that Russia had laid out for him. That’s why I had prayed he was far away.  
_      _The thought of my own brother, my father’s flesh and blood, being tortured and punished in front of my eyes still makes me shudder. It makes me sick to my stomach because I know it’s unfair. He doesn’t deserve any more disappointment or pain… Not after what I did to him._   

   

    Germany sighed, wiping his hands down his face, cleaning up some of the loose tears that were still lying on his tear-stained cheeks. He stared down at the dampened page, with so many words written on the page in his neat script.

    He sighed again, closing the journal and standing up. He needed a small coffee break, something to keep him awake and aware.

    He lumbered through the house, taking care to make as little noise as he could, with the house silent and still. He didn’t want to awake anyone, didn’t want to worry them any.

    He moved through the house slowly, taking it all in, as he had done so many times before. The feeling of the dark hard wood under his bare feet and the pastel wallpaper, printed with small flowers in columnsd, glued to the walls brought him back to his childhood, a simpler and easier time. Not to mention a much happier time.

    The broad German frowned, the feeling guilty and sick. He knew, now, that Gilbert worried over him constantly, especially when he was a child. He was sickly and weak; with most of his childhood spend in bed and with Gil hovering at his bedside when he wasn’t out at war. Gil had been grieving the loss of Holy Rome at the time, and with Ludwig sick for most of his early life, Gil was wrought with worry and stress, but still Prussia mustered up the strength to raise the young Germany.

    Germany frowned, stepping into the kitchen, flicking on the light and grabbing his coffee mug from the cupboard.

     _Gott,_  he sighed internally, resting his hands on the counter as his Keurig brewed his coffee. His shoulders felt so heavy and his lips were pulled down at the corners in a deep frown. The hurt in his chest was aching and hard, making his chest feel tight, like a stone in his soul. The worst part was that he didn’t understand why it was there now and that he didn’t know how to deal with it again.

    He stared out the window, watching as the graceful moon slowly drifted across the sky, quiet and half-full. Some stars were poking out in the dark sky, but it didn’t matter to Ludwig. His spirits were down and the stars didn’t hold the same magic as they once did.

    He turned away, staring down at the black liquid, dark and bitter, mirroring the world around him.

    He lifted the cup and head back to his office, sitting back down in his chair and taking a sip. He took a moment to taste the bitter taste on his tongue before going back to his journal.

     

     _I sat there for an eternity, praying and hoping to Got im Himmel that Gilbert was far away and would stay out of Russia’s grasp.  
_      _I was in Hell the whole time, though. My chest burned with each breath, my own ribs knives. It was getting harder to breathe and I was coughing up blood. My lung was collapsing and I was finding it hard to stay awake. One shoulder eventually did dislocate, the tendons pulled or torn. My arm swelled up and my fingers were numb, but I kept my mind on my brother.  
_      _Finally, I got my answer…_   

    

    The door flew open, blowing some cooling relief on Ludwig’s burnt skin. It jointed the German awake from his pain-induced sleep.

    Russia stormed in, his face blood red and steaming from the ears. He kicked the table, snapping off a leg and spewing splinters everywhere. The piece skidded across the floor, slamming into Ludwig’s broken leg.

    He grunted, the pain waking up his over-taxed nerves. 

    “Your brother is a slippery, little cunt!” The Russian hissed, kicking his captive with his steel-toes boot.

    Germany howled and shivered, his broken bone tearing more soft tissue and blood vessels.

    “He escaped!  _Again!”_  Russia continued, huffing and pacing about. “I was nose to nose with him, and then…  _POOF!_ He disappeared!”

    He reached over, entangling his thick, rough fingers into the victim’s hair, yanking his head back as he leaned in. “He’s more of a slimy eel than I thought! That fucking bastard!”

    He bent down, putting his mouth close to the German’s ear. “But don’t you worry, Ludwig. He’ll be joining you soon.”

    Germany swallowed, glass in her throat as his brows pulled together. “Leave Prussia out of this,” he barley croaked, nearly coughing.

    The Russian tightened his grip, pulling the blond’s head further back, starving at him with icy eyes. “Why would I do that?” he questioned, his jaw clenched. “He’s just as guilty as you are.”

    “Nein,” Ludwig coughed, panting weakly. “He had nothing to do with the decision. I, alone, shoulder the blame.”

    His captor cackled, deep, dark and hysterical. “Oh, no, no, no, Germany! He shares the blame because he raised her!”

    “That doesn’t matter here,” Ludwig groaned, darkness on the edges of his vision.

    “Like Hell!” Ivan sneered, sling-shotting the German’s head forward. “He’s cunning and evil! The Devil himself!”

    Ludwig bared his clenched teeth, growling, his chest rumbling. “Do  _not_  speak about my brother that way!”

    Russia kept laughing, mocking him, baiting him.

    The German nation growled again, his eyes livid, the urge to strangle the purple-eyed man growing stronger in his heart.

    Relief from the pain abruptly flooded him, distracting him from his violent thoughts. He gasped, bringing his, now free, arms forward, cradling his dislocated arm. It didn’t look good; he couldn’t move it and his fingers were numb, his arms twitching every so often. He held it to his chest, his shoulder throbbing.

    “That looks so painful,” Russia mocked, mimicking the care of a nurse or friend. “Let’s get that back into place, shall we?”

    The blonde Russian took hold of the German’s arm, his fingers grasping the strained, bruised muscle tight. Ludwig gritted his teeth, feeling Ivan’s nails dig into his skin. Then he jerked it up, forcing the bone back in place with a loud  _pop!_

    The German grunted, cringing as his shoulder was slammed back into place. It throbbed, swelled up and tender, adding to the already heavy layers of pain her was facing. It took a bit, but his fingers slowly began to wake up, and Ludwig’s mind returned to where it had been before. 

    He glared at Ivan, his eyes dark, as he brought up his rough hands, curling them as they locked around the Russian’s neck. He stood up, immediately collapsing as his broken leg took on weight, tackling his assailant to the ground. 

    Ludwig kept him down, pinning the Russian to the floor, his fingers squeezing his windpipe, watching with furious eyes as Ivan’s violet eyes grew wide and began to dim.

    Russia grunted and couched, his fingers trying desperately to pry away Ludwig’s claws, trying to get in a gasp of breath before he passed out and his captive could escape. He was using all his strength, his forearms and biceps flexing, just as Germany’s muscles were bulging, his fingers closing and pressing down.

    Ludwig’s eyes were wild with rage as he stared down at this former ally, his fingers claws of vengeance and hate.

    Russia grunted, raising up his knee, wedging his foot against the German’s stomach. He shoved hard, Germany falling to the floor, coughing and spitting up blood.

    “You fuck!” Russia gasped, scowling and rubbing his throat. “Traitorous scum!” He got up, still coughing and regaining his breath, and stepped over to the gasping and groaning German, his eyes aflame. He grabbed his blond hair, yanking him up.

    Ludwig cried out, his face twisting with distress. He reached up, grabbing Russia’s iron arm.

    Ivan pulled him back over to the chair and shoved him into the seat, strapping down his arms. “You’re just as bad as him!” he growled. “Just as heinous as you brother!” 

    “Fuck off,” Ludwig spat, his month in a sneer.

    “You will regret that,” Russia warned, stepping back and turning for the door. “You’re brother will pay for this.”

    “Ivan!”

    Russia chuckled and slammed the door.

    “IVAN!”

* * *

 

    “ _Vati?_ ”[1]

    The small whisper broke Ludwig from his train of despair. He looked up with wide eyes; tears streaking down his cheeks, stunned and silent.

    A small figure stood in the light of the doorway to his office, a blanket clutching in his tiny hand. He walked forward, rubbing his little green eyes. “ _Warum weist du?_ ”[2]

    “Kurt,” The tall German blinked, regaining his wits as he closed his journal and wiped the silent tears from his cheeks. “ _Warum wachst du?_ ”[3]

    “ _Ich habe einen Albtraum gehabt,_ ”[4] the little blond boy sniffed, coming to his father’s side, reaching up with his little hands.

    Ludwig smiled sadly and lifted him up, setting him in his lap and hugging him close, taking comfort in the purity of his soapy scent and the softness of his hair.

    “ _Ja,_ ” He quietly cooed. “ _Ich auch, mein Sohn, ich auch._ ” [5]

    The little boy sat back, sniffing again, as his wide green eyes looked up at his father, full of wonder. “You have nightmares, too,  _Vati_?”

    Germany pulled the boy close to his chest, nestling his cheek into the golden locks of his hair. “ _Ja, Kleiner,_ [6] I do,” he whispered softly, stroking the soft locks. “ _Vati_  gets them lots.”

    “Why?” his son asked, holding on to his father tight, his fingers stitched into his nightshirt. 

    “I don’t know _, Kleiner Prinz_ ,”[7] he murmured sadly, his eyes tearing up again. “But I know they’re not fun.”

    The little boy shook his head.

    Ludwig sighed and lifted Kurt up, holding him close. “Let’s get you back to bed,” he whispered, holding his son close to his heart. “Vati will check under the bed for monsters, too.”

    That seemed to clam the shaken boy, relaxing in his arms and yawning. Germany smiled, feeling a bit relieved that Kurt was feeling a bit better. He nudged the door to his room open and laid the boy down, tucking him in.

    He quickly checked under the bed, seeing nothing but dust bunnies and a sock. “No monsters,” he told Kurt, sitting on the bed. “Do you want a lullaby?”

    Kurt nodded, yawning.

    The German nation smiled and began to sing softly, his baritones voice rumbling in his chest, like soothing thunder, filling the room with a gentle melody that made his son’s eyes heavy.                       

 

“ _Der Mond ist aufgegangen,_

_Die goldnen Sternlein prangen_

_Am Himmel hell und klar;_

_Der Wald steht schwarz und schweiget,_

_Und aus den Wiesen steiget_

_Der weiße Nebel wunderbar._

_Wie ist die Welt so stille,_

_Und in der Dämmrung Hülle_

_So traulich und so hold!_

_Als eine stille Kammer,_

_Wo ihr des Tages Jammer_

_Verschlafen und vergessen sollt._

_Seht ihr den Mond dort stehen?_

_Er ist nur halb zu sehen,_

_Und ist doch rund und schön!_

_So sind wohl manche Sachen,_

_Die wir getrost belachen,_

_Weil unsere Augen sie nicht sehn._

_Wir stolze Menschenkinder_

_Sind eitel arme Sünder_

_Und wissen gar nicht viel;_

_Wir spinnen Luftgespinste_

_Und suchen viele Künste_

_Und kommen weiter von dem Ziel_ ”

    Kurt was asleep by the end, his little chest moving with his breath under the blankets. And with his son settled and asleep, Ludwig was allowed to sulk again, a deep frown carving his stoic features and pain in his heart.

    He got up and sobered back to his office, swallowing hard and ill prepared to face the memories he was facing.

    “Just a bit more,” he encouraged himself. “Then we can maybe rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Daddy?  
> 2\. Why are you crying?  
> 3\. Why are you awake?  
> 4\. I had a nightmare.  
> 5\. Yeah, me too, my son, me too.  
> 6\. Little one  
> 7\. Little Prince
> 
> The song is Der Mond ist Aufgegangen, a traditional German lullaby.


	7. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig gets busted in the middle of the night in his office.

Germany sighed, sinking into his chair, his back hunched and his shoulders sagged. He cradled his head in his rough hands, his fingers in his golden hair, his eyes staring at the wood grain of his desk. He gathered himself back up as he sat back up in his leather desk chair, frowning at the pile of paperwork that he had left undone on the corner of his desk.

It was a neat stack of official papers, tucked into a cubby of the shelving; all headed with the insignia of the _Bundesregierung_.[1] His stomach dropped, filled with guilt and loathing. He hated leaving his paperwork unfinished. It made him feel like he was failing his people when he couldn’t get things done on time. So many lives, 82 million lives, were depending on him, all trusting him with their livelihood and welfare.

The colour in his face drained away, his guts twisting as he tore his eyes away from the one-inch thick stack. He needed to get it done soon, or his conscience would eat at him.

He frowned and looked down at his journal, sighing. He picked up his pen, opening up his journal one more time.

 

 

> The torture continued for days, maybe even weeks, or even months. I couldn’t tell. Time ceased to exist in the cycle of pain continued, the intensity increasing every time Ivan walked in the door. My lungs burned, the one that was punctured collapsing slowly. My lungs were filling with more and more blood and phlegm with every passing second that went on. It burned, my ribs stabbing me with each breath I managed to wheeze in as metal straps were wrapped around my chest and tightened each time Ivan paid me a visit. I was suffocating slowly, my own body unable to cope with damages and trying to function in spite of it, only making things worse. My leg looked horrid, my bone oozing puss from the exposed marrow and swelling more and more, turning purple, blood stained and numb. The skin around the open wound looked dark and flaky, maybe even necrotic. I was worrying that I may loose the leg; that I would have to have to suffer through months of regeneration and regrowth. (Since I am a nation, I have the ability to regenerate and regrow any lost limbs. My body can heal any damage inflicted onto it, unless the damage is done to the nation as well, then it is permanent. But usually regenerating is an unpleasant experience.)
> 
> My vision was no better. It was blurry, my mind swelling and pressing against my broken skull. I couldn’t breathe through my nose. It was broken and full of clots and blood, needing a plastic surgeon to put it back in place.
> 
> I need medical attention immediately, but I knew Ivan wasn’t going to give me the luxury.
> 
> I just wanted to be back home, curled up with my dogs and reading a good book. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be in pain anymore. I had already dealt with the pain of the depression in the 20’s and I barely made it through it. If it hadn’t been for the love of my life, I would have been worse off.
> 
> Luckily Gilbert had kept out of Russia’s hands. Though each time he managed to escape Ivan’s grasp, Russia cussed and screamed, beating me even worse than before, subjecting me to more intense torture. I was his punching bag and the outlet for all his rage, being punished for my brother’s cleverness and the awful betrayal I had committed. My entire body was bruised, and I could hardly stay awake, and when I was able to hold onto the thread of consciousness, the pain was a searing assault on my nerves.
> 
> I was water boarded and flogged, whipped and kicked. The soles of my feet were whipped and my toenails all pulled out with crude pliers, leaving a bloody mess. It was never ending, day in and day out. I tried many times to plead my case, get the truth out, but Russia was unwilling to listen. It all fell on his deaf ears.
> 
> Then, the day came, the day when Russia had entered my capital city. I felt weak and was on death’s door, my people were unhappy and afraid, and I wasn’t there to help them, to guide them forward. They were leaderless, and almost nationless. I had failed them all, and I knew if Ivan delivered the coup de gras now, Germany would cease to exist. I would become a memory like my father and my brother, Holy Rome, before me.
> 
> The end had come for me, and it was what I was expecting, violent and filled with hate. But it wasn’t what I wanted. If I was going to die, I wanted to be quiet and restful, lying in bed at home. Or on my own terms: Quick and simple, with a bullet to my temple.
> 
> None of that was possible, and so I had to accept what was about to happen: that I was about to die, never to see my brother or my love ever again, and in deplorable conditions. My body was likely going to be through into the snow and denied a proper burial until Ivan was forced to hand over my body as proof, but maybe I wouldn’t be allowed a burial at all. Maybe I would fade into obscurity, leaving another scar on my brother’s heart.

 

The door opened.

Russia stepped in, two Russian NCOs following him. Ludwig’s wary, bloodshot eyes eyes looked up at his captor, his vision dark. The colour had dimmed, the brightness fading with his body weak and beaten. Looking up at the group that had come for him, he knew what was coming next: the end.

The two snow-covered grunts stepped forward, unlocking the shackles around Germany’s raw wrists, giving the battered nation both relief and dread. They hauled up the broken man, ignoring his broken leg and manhandling him roughly as they made their way outside, all while Ivan stood in the corner, his arms folded over his large chest, his face twisted in a triumphant smirk. He had won.

They hauled Ludwig out into the mud, dropping him down into the light dusting of snow, kicking him over onto his back.

The German coughed, blood, phlegm and burnt tissue coming up. He gasped in pain, the discomfort in his destroyed lungs nearly killing him right there.

“This is it, Germany,” Russia cackled, standing over the German nation. His smirking face was dark and threatening against the greying sky. He got down on his knees, straddling the blond’s hips, pulling a knife from his belt, his grin growing. “Any last words?”

“You’ll have to answer to her,” the defeated nation wheezed out, his voice full of defiance.

“Gladly,” Russia laughed, driving his knife into the center of Ludwig’s chest, twisting it before pulling it across, slicing up the left side of the nation’s torso.

The Russian watched as the German’s face lit up with pain, his mouth gaping, letting out a silent scream. Agony teared across the broken nation’s chest, blood welling from the huge wound, blooming across the ashen skin and coating the Russian’s hands, staining them red with Germany’s blood.

Ludwig choked on the coppery taste filling his throat, a faint, choked noise sounding from his gaping mouth. His body went rigid, his back arching up, his breath wheezing out of the new hole in his chest, whistling through his skin. The blood bubbled with air as he tried to gain breath, failing as agony filled his existence. His body throbbed, the torment white washing his mind as he waited for the dark embrace of death.

He stared up at the dark clouds passing over him, time passing in unknown increments, death refusing to take him. The pain still throbbing through his damaged being as his eyes slipped closed.

“He’s over here!”

The sharp cry barely registered as Ludwig’s oxygen deprived body hovered on the brink. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, and why he was still clinging to life, even though he had failed as a nation. His nation was gone, he was mortal, why wasn’t he dead?

“WEST!” Gilbert shrieked, skidding to his knees beside his baby brother’s limp body.

He rolled the blond onto his side, making sure his airways were clear and putting him in the recovery postion.

His brother was battered and bruised, black bags hanging from the corners of his eyes, his nose crocked and his lips blue. He was pale, and ice cold, lying still in the mud.

The panicked albino frantically shook him, trying to illicit response from the broken nation. “West!”

He heard a harsh wheeze, blood bubbling from the huge gash gaping in his chest, giving a faint sign of life.

The albino nearly collapsed with relief, his hand going to Ludwig’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, West,” Gilbert assured, stroking the blond’s matted locks. “We’re going to get you somewhere safe.”

Ludwig coughed, his body shaking, as his head shifted and his eyes cracked open. “G–Gil?” he croaked, his dull, blue eyes searching for his older brother.

Gil took his little brother’s face between his hands, leaning in and holding back his tears. “I’m here, Ludwig. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Trembling, Ludwig tried to breathe, his chest burning as hot needles poked holes in him. “Gil–” He choked, cringing as he merely breathed. “C–can’t… breathe…”

Gil’s eyes fell to his bare and bloody chest, seeing the huge, gaping hole, blood bubbling up as his chest wheezed. He could see the broken ribs shifting under the skin with each movement Ludwig’s body made, and he knew that it was probably was a war zone inside. He couldn’t stay like this, Gil needed to get him help fast, or his body would run out of air.

The albino licked his lips and unclipped the first aid kit from his belt. He laid it out, his pale, shaky hands drifting over the instruments and gauze, hesitant and nervous. He took a deep breath, getting to work.

He packed the wound with gauze, slapping on adhesive bandages to staunch the bleeding. Red still blossomed on the sterile, white dressing.

But now was the hard part.

“This is going to sting, West,” Gil murmured, patting his brother’s side. “Just relax. Okay?”

Ludwig bobbed his head, gasping.

Gil drew in a breath, unsheathing his trench knife, chewing his lip as he knelt over his little brother. He took a moment to steady himself, the tip of his knife lined up with a space between ribs. He puffed out a few quick breaths before pressing down, opening a shallow hole.

Ludwig gasped, his eyes wide, blood immediately draining from the new hole, gushing down the blond’s side. His chest heaved, the weight that had been pressing on his lungs suddenly elevated. He savoured the feeling, pulling in a measurable breath for the first time in what seemed like forever.

The blood drained from within his chest, his lungs having room to move again.

Prussia puffed in relief, stroking the Germany’s blond locks, his smile weak with relief. “Just breath, West. Help’s on the way and she’s waiting.”

Germany nodded and relaxed, turning his attention to his breathing, taking in the brief moment of relief that he was feeling.

Prussia stayed at his side, his hand gripping the blond’s arm tight, worried that the nation could slip or dissolve at a moments notice. He had left with things semi-stable, with Russia at bay and the soldiers standing down, but he didn’t know if the people would hold their loyalty forever. And without the people, without their loyalty to the country of Germany, Ludwig would slip away.

For the German nation, everything was a blur. He remembered the Red Cross soldiers in passing, carrying him away on a stretcher to a whirling helicopter. Then, nurses, doctors, sterile white walls of the hospital. He could still feel the pain, his leg throbbing and oozing, his chest in a state of wreckage, his skin and throat burning. Then, he remembered his red haired goddess sitting next to him, smiling gently, with her liquid luck eyes warm and inviting. Then he remembered his brother at his bedside, fidgeting in his seat and biting his lip.

Finally, he woke up.

The sterile white walls greeted him, bright and uncomforting. He was propped up on lumpy, stale hospital pillows, cradling his mutilated and battered body. He took in a breath, a mask covering his nose and lips, his mind hazy and agony still filling him. It had lessened, but it still drained him as he looked around, searching his surroundings.

His right leg was in a sling, his crushed foot in a cast up to his knee. His other leg was less fortunate, part of it amputated at the mid-shin, the bandages stained with yellow and red ozzings from the wound. His pulled shoulder throbbed, the arm in a sling, his fingers still a bit swollen. His chest felt a bit better, but it still hurt to breathe, his ribs aligned, but aching nonetheless in their bandages. His throat was still hoarse, aching when he swallowed, and his lungs were still burning a bit as he took in a better amount of oxygen.

“Hey,” someone whispered from beside him.

There she was, his lady luck, his wild redhead, the love of his life: Ireland.

Her green eyes were soft, with her curly red hair tied up into a loose bun. Her hand held his gently, her thumb stroking the back. “You’ve been out for a while.”

He smiled at her, his eyes wary and teary as he tried to regain himself. But soon he furrowed his brow, his eyes asking questions as he tried to speak, but failed with a hard swallow, fire burning in his lungs.

“You’ve been in a coma for about six months. Russia gave you a real good beating, but you’re going to be fine,” she assured him. “You’re ribs have already moved back into place and have started healing. Your foot is on its way to healing and your leg is re-growing.”

Ludwig ignored all of it and just stared at her, his eyelids heavy. “Gil?”

“He’s fine,” his girlfriend assured, pushing back his bangs. “He’s just dealing with the terms of surrender.”

A frown creased the German’s features. “So I lost…” He wheezed out, his voice raspy and crackled.

He grimaced, his chest tight and disappointment blooming in his heart. It sank into his stomach, knots twisting his insides as his eyes began to sting, his chest heaving, despite the pain. He shifted his gaze away from Ireland, unable to face her in the light of such shame and defeat. “I…” He sighed; his shoulders slumped, his body sagging forward. “I… failed. I’ll understand if… If you leave me… I–”

“Luddy,” she cut him off softly, reaching over to grip his chin gently. “Look at me.” She pulled his gaze back to her, her eyes still soft and full of love. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“And what about my nation?” He croaked.

“It’s still there,” she promised, stroking the side of his face and a sad smile on her lips. “But I have bad news.”

She caressed his cheeks, her hands never leaving him as a frown pulled at his lips. “They’re splitting you and Gilbert up.”

Shock vibrated through the German nation. “What?”

“You’ll be the West of Germany,” she explained. “He’ll be the East… under Russia’s control,” she paused, holding his hand and frowning, her eyes growing dark. “I tried to stop them, but Russia insisted and Arthur couldn’t say no.”

Ludwig was speechless. His brother was about to be forced into a proxy position––again––and there was nothing he could do about it. He was going to be a slave, someone minion, his sovereignty taken away, never to be returned. Even worse, he was going to be in the hands of Russia, the sadistic asshole who had been rabid about getting his hands on Gil to make him pay for wars gone by, for Germany’s sins. Now he was Russia’s property and the large nation was going to do whatever he wanted with the albino.

“Luddy, I’m–”

“Hey! West!” Gilbert cheered, coming into the room, grinning. “You’re looking better.”

Germany went to speak, but bit his tongue, unable to speak to his brother after the news. He was at fault here. If he hadn’t taken away Prussia’s nation status, if he hadn’t have annexed him or taken away his sovereignty… If he hadn’t started this war…

“West, Bruder,” Gil murmured. “It’s okay… This was my decision.”

Germany didn’t fully believe it, but nodded, Gilbert pulling him into a gentle hug.

“ _Es tut mir leid_ ,[2]” he whispered, holding his older brother tight.

“ _Du musst nicht sein,_ ” Gil murmured, patting his back gently. “ _Du bist schuld nicht dafür_.”[3]

Germany pulled away, his eyes stinging. “ _Aber_ …[4]”

“ _Nein, Ludwig, ich will darüber nicht hören_.” Gil said curtly. “ _Du wirst außerhalb seiner Reichweite sein_.”[5]

“Okay…”

Ludwig was still uneasy about it, but said nothing, having no energy to fight. He felt sick to his stomach, moving, with help from Ireland, onto his side, not wanting to dwell on his state for the moment. But still it haunted him and he felt sick, pained and his eyes stung as she rubbed his back gently.

“ _Mir wird es gut gehen. Ich verspreche_.” Gil assured, sitting down on the bed. “ _Wir werden noch einmal einander begegnen, wann diese vorbei ist_.”[6]

 

 

> I’ll never fully forgive myself for what I did to Gilbert. I stripped him of everything and caused his downfall. I brought him back into war, back into his element, and they punished him instead of me. _I_ started the war. _I_ was supposed to be punished, not my brother. But Russia took him, and with Prussia finally in his grasp, I knew Gil would suffer horribly. But I don’t want to think about it. Ever. Gil is finally healthy and safe in my boarders and that is all that matters.

 

“Ludwig.”

The German looked up from his journal, tears drying on his cheeks, and saw her standing in the doorway of his office. Her green eyes were illuminated with worry and something else that the German couldn’t place. She stood there, a hand on her pregnant belly, another on her hip, his fingers playing with her wedding band.

“Eiren… You should be…” he whispered, closing his journal and wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand.

The Irish woman stepped forward, her arms resting over her parturient middle. “You weren’t in bed, and I saw your office light on…”

“I’ve been sleeping in the spare room,” he told her. “My nightmares were getting bad and you and _das Kind[7]_ needed sleep.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she whispered, sitting on his desk. Her face was unreadable, with her eyes hard. He was in trouble.

He averted his gaze from his wife, frowning. “I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted you to focus on the baby, not me.”

“I can focus on both of you,” she told him, stroking his cheek. “You’re my husband, and I love you so much, Luddy. I want to be there for you.”

The blond’s lips twitch up, almost into a sad smile. “I’m sorry, _Leib_ , I just wanted to protect you.” He laid his hand on her pregnant midriff, his gaze still on the grain of his wooden desk.

“You need to sleep,” she told him. “You look like hell. Come on.”

She patted his shoulder gently, trying to convince him to come back to bed with her. He needed rest. It was written all over his features and his eyes were looking heavy and dull.

“ _Nein_ ,” he protested. “I can’t…”

“Ludwig…”

_“Liebling_ [8], please. I can’t. I’ll come when I can.” He whispered, unable to put what he was experiencing into words.

“I’m not leaving you here,” she told him, her eyes having a certain heat to them.

“I mean that I can’t because…” he pursed his lips. It was hard for him to admit, to tell her that he needed some help. “Because my nightmares are making it impossible. All I see is death and destruction, nothing that makes sleep easy.”

His wife frowned, sighing. “Alright. Then let’s have a bath, okay?”

The German gazed up at her with a little smile gracing his lips. “Alright.”

His wife smiled and kissed his head, her fingers tracing along his cheekbone. “I’ll go get it started and you come when you’re ready.”

Germany nodded, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it gently. He gazed at her lovingly, feeling some relief now that Eiren had stepped in and relieved him. She had an amazing talent at doing so, just stepping in and making his world just a bit better. Just her presents made his world brighter and just a bit less… damaged. She breathed new life into his shattered soul, easing him back into a normal life after the war.

The war had left him with more mental scars than physical, splintering his mind and giving him nightmares. Hallucinations and gory memories crippled him, leaving him in a weakened position.

But Ireland was there; helping him at home, while the Western Allies gave his country aid. But still, he couldn’t face Russia. Not for years. Each time he would think about the large nation, he would panic, worried about Gil, worried about whether his brother was alright, or starved. It twisted his guts and left him shivering.

But Eiren was there. She soothed him, stayed with him. And for that he was forever grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Federal government  
> 2\. I'm sorry  
> 3\. You don't have to be. It's not your fault.  
> 4\. But  
> 5\. No, Ludwig, I don't want to hear it. This will put you out of his reach.  
> 6\. I will be fine. I promise. We will meet again when this is over.  
> 7\. the Kid  
> 8\. Sweetheart


End file.
